


"We'll talk about this later."

by testedcyberneticz



Category: Transformers (Unicron Trilogy), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Armada
Genre: Accidental Self-Harm, Angst, Character Study, Hopeful Ending, Me overthinking characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:07:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26186155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/testedcyberneticz/pseuds/testedcyberneticz
Summary: When he was stressed, Blurr held his hand, or hands, in a fist.No.When he was... More stressed.Yes, that was the best way to put it.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	"We'll talk about this later."

When he was stressed, Blurr held his hand, or hands, in a fist. 

No.

When he was... More stressed. 

Yes, that was the best way to put it. 

Coming here to Earth was something else entirely, but the people here, the team... They were a mess. There was such an odd sense of causality that it stung and bit down on him. The human children would watch on as things happened and become their own moving obstacle course. Sideswipe would follow him around like a lost cause looking for another. Jetfire was overly confident and decided to let the world know it. Red Alert was factual and blunt. Scavenger slept on the job and was too unpredictable. Hoist was... He worried about Hoist. While his relationship had improved with Hot Shot, Hot Shot was exactly what he didn't like in a soldier. 

And Optimus Prime... Yes, he respected him as one should. A good leader. But there was also this sense of causuality with relationships that caught him off guard. He would follow, but not close enough to get pulled in deeply. 

The environment was not that of which a soldier existed in, either way. And because of that, it was stressful. But, a normal environment for a soldier was also stressful. It went back and forth, gasping for air until it was forced to drown again, and when it was drowned too much he made himself scarce. But sometimes, it was pulled back into the air by force, even when it wasn't ready to stop drowning. 

Which was probably why he was hearing an odd noise just left of him, slightly down below. It pinched and skidded on himself as the noises of the room went from comprehensible words to odd, muddy noise.

"_____."

It was with an odd scratching sound pain striked through his hand. 

" _Bl__r_." 

It was followed by a quiet popping noise, like the sneaking footsteps of a minicon. 

" ** _Blurr_**." The voice was actually saying something, and that's when Blurr realized he should probably actually listen to it. He turned his head to the source, a stoic as ever Red Alert, and prepared himself for whatever it was he was going to hear.

"Mm?" He made the noise faintly, and just realized he should've actually said a word there. 

"Relax your hand. Now." His voice sounded tense for Red Alert. Blurr found once again the fact that Red Alert was brave for a medic. If a Cybertronian had both a mouth and eyes, they usually kept it uncovered when being a medic to help comfort the patient. Red Alert, however, covered his eyes. Not only that, he managed to keep his mouth almost totally expressionless despite being completely out in the open. 

Though, this kind of expression and body language was the simple default for Red Alert. But to be a medic in such a state? Red Alert was a brave one. One would usually find either things to be extremely discomforting. But Blurr felt it was more comfortable than the medics who stared at him with fake or star-crossed smiles. Ones that edged too close to that of being genuine were dangerous for a soldier. 

Which was probably exactly why Red Alert's small frown was so heavily alarming. It made him uncomfortable, to say the least. It was a frown full of care and concern, and the alarms were already going off in Blurr's head. 

Sounds of scraping metal.

"Blurr. You need to do it now." 

It was some inmeasurable amount of time later when Red Alert grabbed his arm. Gently but stern, he felt his hand being moved and pulled like some kind of delicate puzzle. Looking down at it as his hand was finally opened, he winced. 

His hand was shaking. The middle of his palm had energon slowly trailing down it with a mark that looked suspiciously like the end of a few fingers. The scraped paint was worse than usual. 

"You're okay." 

No he's not. He's not. He's stressed and doubtful and is in some weird kind of environment where it just isn't making sense and- 

He needed to get himself together.

"I'm going out for a ride." Blurr finally says. 

"You just punctured through yourself by gripping your hand too tightly." Red Alert states matter of factly. 

"I said I'm-" 

"Does this happen often?" His mouth is a straight line again. 

Yes, "No." The line threatened to tilt. Uncomfortable.

"We'll talk about this later."

"Sure." He replied with no commitment. 

"I mean it, Blurr." 

Damn it. 


End file.
